Mask of the Priest and the Bell of the Chapel
by Panic at the Beatles Disco
Summary: This is my take on the past of Alexander Anderson and how he got to be the priest we all know. Young Alexander's father is dead, and his mother gets remarried to an abusive maniac. The couple strive to create the perfect family image while Alexander suffers terribly under the hand of his new stepfather. Chapter 2 is rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**I apologize for the unoriginality of my title, but I thought that the title of the song would fit my fanfiction very well. I do not own Hellsing or the Soundtrack that goes with it.**

* * *

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Crow. Please, have a seat." A short, bespectacled man gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk as he himself sat down.

Allen Crow smiled warmly, taking up the offer.

"I'm sorry that we couldn't meet sooner, Mr. Morrison, but things have been hectic," Crow apologized. "With our new marriage, and settling down with her family, I haven't had much time."

Mr. Morrison flashed him a forgiving smile, shrugging casually. "I'm glad that Martha married you, someone who doesn't have a death wish."

"Yes," Crow agreed with a grin, "yes, I intend to stay for a while. And these last few months have been promising."

Mr. Morrison's smile grew at the corners. "That's good. I've noticed a change in Alexander, as well. I think that having you around will benefit him greatly."

"I hope so," Crow said, running a hand through his thinning red hair. "I sure hope so."

"Well, over the last few months, and even before you married Martha, Alexander's attitude improved. I understand that his father's death was a tragedy, but at least he has you to lean on now."

"Alexander's a good kid," Crow said, as if speaking to himself.

"Yes," Mr. Morrison agreed, chuckling, "he's a special child. Very bright, very bright…"

"He _is_ an intelligent one," Crow said with a smile. "You seem to know my new stepson very well- even better than I do."

Mr. Morrison flashed a flattered smile, although Crow's comment wasn't meant to compliment him.

"You can say that I was a sort of mentor while he was troubled," Mr. Morrison explained, his friendly smile still present on his lips. "But when you walked into Alexander's life he seemed to change. He talks about you quite a bit."

A small twitch contorted Crow's formerly handsome features for a brief moment, and if one wasn't watching for the quick movement, it was nonexistent.

"Oh yes," Mr. Morrison elaborated, "he talks about you quite a bit. It's like he worships the ground you walk on, Mr. Crow."

Crow forced a laugh and stood up from the chair, holding out his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Morrison."

Mr. Morrison shook his hand, still grinning. They exchanged a few more words, and Crow left the schoolteachers' classroom.

"Let's go," he commanded to the pair sitting just outside the room. Crow put an arm around his wife's shoulder, her son following them closely.

"So, what did Mr. Morrison have to say?" She inquired.

Crow smiled warmly at her, analyzing her features. Her son looked nothing like her; the only thing that was similar between the two was their bleach blonde hair. Martha Anderson had delicate features, soft eyes, and a petite mouth that was always pinched up in a sneer. Alexander, on the other hand, was the spitting image of his father. His bright eyes always seemed to be contemplating, his brow was always furrowed. Alexander had bolder features, the features of a fighting man.

"Martha, he told me everything we already knew." Martha smiled proudly, but her smile disappeared as Crow continued talking. "However, there is something we need to address once we get… home."

Alexander Anderson felt a cold sinking feeling in his chest as he heard these words. The feeling might partially have been because of the large purple bruise that already tattooed his rib cage, but he knew that that bruise was going to be added by a dozen more in a short while. He recognized that tone.

The trio walked home, the lovely couple leading the way with proud steps, the young boy shadowing behind them.

It was a cool night, and although the two adults didn't seem to notice the weather, it had chilled Alexander to the bone. He was thankful when they finally got to their house, a house that was only built for a small family like their own.

Once they got inside, Alexander immediately got started on his schoolwork while his mother and her husband prepared their evening meal.

The trio sat down at their small dining room table, not saying much while they ate. The cold feeling was still present in Alexander's mind, prohibiting his appetite slightly.

"Your teacher likes you, Alexander," Crow commented. Anderson looked up from his food and smiled as Crow continued. "I hear you're a very good student."

Alexander stayed silent, his mother looking snobbishly proud. "That's how I raised him," Martha Anderson said, her chest swelling.

"Yes," Crow smiled, that smile sending a bolt of fear through Alexander's heart. "But he said something quiet interesting."

Martha raised one of her thin eyebrows, retrieving their dishes and placing them in the sink.

"Alexander," Crow said, staring at the boy with cold, merciless eyes. He got up from his chair to stand behind Alexander. "He says that you… talk about me," Crow informed him with an icy edge to his voice.

Alexander turned and looked at him, fear in his wide eyes. "I only say good things!" He cried.

"Alexander, are you sure you're telling the truth?" Crow asked coldly. Alexander sprang up from his chair, stepping away from Crow, nodding vigorously.

"Allen, don't pressure him," Martha said to Crow, who looked at her with a fiery glare.

"Stay out of this Martha!" he shouted, turning his attention back to Alexander. "What sort of 'good things' do you tell them?"

Alexander threw a worried glance at his mother, who seemed to have lost interest. "I don't tell them anything!" he cried.

Crow stepped towards him. "You're not telling them about how you get these bruises, are you?"

Alexander shook his head. "Nobody's ever even seen them, nobody knows about it! I swear!" Alexander exclaimed.

"Why are you so upset, Alexander?" Crow inquired, placing a hand on Alexander's head. "Being upset is a sign of guilt."

Alexander opened his mouth to say something, but the only noise that sounded from him was a quiet choking sound.

Crow smiled at him cheerfully, retracting his hand. Alexander sighed, shutting his eyes. Somehow he knew that this was going to be one of the worst beatings he would ever receive. Alexander waited for Crow's cold hand to strike him, and he looked up when it didn't. The moment he raised his head to see Crow's smiling features, his stepfather's hand created a wave of pain on the left side of his face.

Alexander let out a surprised whimper and staggered to the side, holding his face. He envisioned the large dark purple bruise that would form just under his left cheekbone and spread down to his jaw.

_I hurt myself while playing around outside, that's all,_ he would say if anyone asked. And then Alexander would smile. He had gotten rather good at faking his smile, so good that he forgot what his real smile looked like. Or what a real smile felt like. But as long as he smiled everything would be alright. At least, that's what his mother said.

"You _never_ talk about me again!" Crow shrieked, his hand smashing across Alexander's face again.

"I won't!" Alexander wailed. "I'll never say anything again!"

Crow clapped a hand over Alexander's mouth. "Hush…" he whispered. When he withdrew his hand, Alexander was surprised to see it bloody. He felt his face and realised that a river of blood was gushing out of his nose, and he was now starting to taste the blood that was flowing into his mouth.

A hard, painful fist crashed against Alexander's stomach and he doubled over in pain, a few flecks of blood dripping from his nose onto the floor.

"You've been defiant lately, Alexander," Crow said angrily. "I've tried to refrain from doing this, but you deserve it!"

After a few more minutes of being beaten by his stepfather, Alexander was sent to his room bruised and bloody.

The teenaged boy sat on his bed, resting his head against the wall, holding his hand up to his nose until the blood stopped spouting out of it.

He yawned, thinking he should probably sleep despite how early it was. After every one of Allen Crow's rages, Alexander would be sent to his room for the night, with no contact from his mother or his abuser. That was what he expected from this night as well, and he started nodding off to sleep.

But before he had a chance to fall into the sweet sanctuary of dreams, Alexander heard the married couple sitting in the living room talking. They didn't talk, not after Crow would beat Alexander, and if they did talk, Crow would threaten Martha as well.

Alexander didn't hear their conversation, but he thought that his mother sounded slightly distressed, somewhat more disturbed than usual.

Now they were arguing, although he recognised that his mother was only arguing for the sake of discussion.

Then there was silence. Alexander didn't hear any more noise from the couple. His mother probably had her nose in a book, most likely a book about philosophy, and Crow would be sitting in the large armchair that he claimed as his own, consuming a large amount of some alcoholic substance.

And here was Alexander, sitting in the dark on his bed that hardly fit in his small room. The bed wasn't particularly comfortable, and it was giving him an awfully sore back, but it was a bed after all.

He resolved to go to sleep, to sleep for a long time so that he could go to school and not have to say a word to his stepfather, but somehow he knew that plan would be foiled. But, like the hopeful child Alexander was, he tried to forget his worries through sleep.

* * *

Alexander was awoken by the dry creak of his bedroom door opening, the hinges crying out to him in an inhuman language.

_It's not morning yet,_ Alexander thought with some exasperation, a frown forming on the boy's face. He heard no footsteps entering his room, but he did not want to try and sleep again just yet. This didn't feel right.

A strange feeling made Alexander's stomach flutter, and he perked up a bit. He had a hunch that if he continued to sit here, he would be completely vulnerable.

_Vulnerable to what?_ He asked himself, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness of the room.

Alexander looked over to the door, a shiver running down his spine. At first he saw nothing but the glimmer of the knife in the pale moonlight, and then he noticed his stepfather wielding the glinting weapon.

He quickly sprang off his bed to stand before the man, although his body shook nervously.

_Is he going to kill me? Am I going to die?_ He asked himself, and nearly laughed at his stupidity. Of course, his mother wouldn't let Crow hurt him _too_ badly.

"Alexander," Crow acknowledged in a cold voice. Alexander glanced to the living area, noting that Martha was reading her book.

Alexander stepped back as Crow entered his room, taking one pace back for every step Crow took foreword.

Crow closed the bedroom door softly behind him and stood in front of Alexander. Alexander looked at him with fear in his bright eyes, feeling small and insignificant in comparison to the man towering over him. His anxious eyes shifted momentarily to the knife that was still flashing at him with hearty cheerfulness, and Alexander whimpered quietly.

"You're a good child," Crow said, his words only slightly slurred from the alcohol he had consumed earlier. But this was not a drunken act. Alexander knew that sometimes his stepfather was more sober when he was drunk.

"But you're out of line," Crow continued, touching the tip of the knife's blade with one finger.

Alexander trembled, seeing a small bead of blood forming on Crow's finger. The intoxicated (but also sober) man wiped the dot of crimson off on his shirt, casually looking down at the new stain.

"H-how am I o-out of line?" Alexander asked in a tiny voice.

Crow analyzed him, raising an eyebrow. "You're a mess, Alexander," he said, with no intentions of answering the boy.

"I'm sorry," Alexander apologized, trying to scrape some of the dried blood off his face and straighten his clothing.

"You're sorry!" Crow cried out, making Alexander jump. "You're always _sorry_, Alexander." Crow waved the knife around, and Alexander caught a glimpse of his frightened reflection as the blade whizzed past his face.

"You're _pathetic,_" Crow hissed. "How can a parent be proud of a lad like you if you're so feeble?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Alexander wanted to be his best. He wanted to be the best for his mother, whom he loved dearly, and he wanted to be the best for his father, whom he missed terribly.

"That is of no concern to me," Crow answered, his lip curling in a sneer.

"Then why do you care?" Alexander asked quietly, knowing that his bold statement will result in some punishment.

Crow bent down, his face close to Alexander. The teenaged boy grimaced, smelling the sick scent of alcohol on his stepfather's breath.

"I care, Alexander," he whispered, breathing a whiff of his putrid breath into Alexander's face, "because it pisses me off. It pisses me off to no end."

Alexander stepped back, his face contorted with disgust. Crow straightened, glaring at Alexander, who quickly wiped the revolted look off his face.

"What's wrong, Alexander? Don't you like your stepfather?" Crow snarled. "I'll have to change that." Crow held the knife by the blade and jabbed the handle in Alexander's direction. Alexander jumped back, his legs resting against the edge of his bed.

A moment later Alexander was seeing stars as the hard handle of the blade was being brought down on the top of his head. Alexander blinked and staggered as Crow relentlessly hit him. With each collision, the hilt of the knife made a dull thudding noise. Alexander felt a wet trickle drip down his face, and his tongue snaked out to taste the familiar metallic flavour of blood.

The boy swayed on his feet and Crow put his hands on Alexander's shoulders to steady him.

Alexander looked up at Crow with large, hopeful eyes, but the look only irritated Crow further. The kid had so much faith in Crow; he looked up to him so much, regardless of how much Crow hurt him. That large amount of childish trust sickened Crow.

Alexander's shining eyes flicked momentarily to the blade that was still gleaming, although it was mostly concealed in Crow's palm.

Crow's gaze followed Alexander's, and a grin crept onto the man's face.

"You're afraid of this," he commented, holding the knife properly again.

Alexander nodded and held back a sob. Crow tilted the knife, and both of them could see their reflections perfectly in the blade.

Crow saw himself, smiling like a maniac with a similar delirious look in his eyes, eyes that were slightly widened and glazed over from his earlier intake of alcohol. He saw no mercy, and seeing himself like this only encouraged his heartless attitude even further.

Alexander again only saw a terrified child, standing there looking up with round eyes that begged for sympathy. As he stared, he realised how much he had bled that night, and there were quite a few paths of drying blood trailing down his face. One trail, the one caused by the handle of the knife, had dripped all the way down to his neck and was now drying in a crimson smear.

Alexander trembled and averted his gaze, instead staring up into the shadow concealed face of Allen Crow. Crow's evil grin widened and with it, so did Alexander's frightened eyes.

"Now," Crow said in an almost business-like tone, "Alexander..."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it so far. The rating will change as of next chapter. **


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is rated M, just to be safe.**

* * *

"Take off your clothes," Crow instructed after a moment of tapping the sharp tip of the blade against his bottom lip.

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest protectively. On his face he wore a confused expression, and he was about to protest this new demand.

"Do it, Alexander," Crow hissed, pointing the straight edge of the blade at his stepson.

Alexander nodded, and with shaking hands he slowly removed his clothing. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and once he managed to unfasten the vertical row of studs he slid his shirt down his thin arms, discarding it on the bed behind him.

He didn't have to look at Crow to know that his stepfather would order him to continue stripping. Moments later Alexander tossed his pants onto his bed in a pile on top of his shirt. He finally forced his gaze to meet Crow's, and he shivered as he stood presented in front of his stepfather in just his underwear.

Alexander was surprised to see an amused look on Crow's face, and beyond that entertained expression Alexander noticed some sort of hunger in the man's eyes. But Alexander was sure that Crow just wanted to ridicule him, and he would only have to humor him just a little bit longer.

Crow flashed Alexander his eerie, lopsided Allen Crow Grin, and extended his arm out, touching the waistband of Alexander's underwear with the knife.

"This too," Crow said, licking his dry lips.

"But-but…" Alexander was either going to beg for mercy or object, but his mouth was dry, much too dry to allow speech. Another shiver rocketed down Alexander's spine, and he felt sick with fear.

"Alexander," Crow warned, raising the knife to point at Alexander's face. Alexander swallowed the dry lump in his throat and nodded.

With a snap of the waistband, Alexander's underwear had fallen down his legs and pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of the confines of his feet, kicking the dull article of clothing aside with a shaking foot.

Now he stood naked and red-faced in front of Crow, exposing his bruised body. Alexander rubbed one of his arms that had broken out in gooseflesh, looking hopefully up at Crow, who had a look of electric excitement in his eyes. Alexander no longer had the feeling that his stepfather was only focused on making him feel ridiculous, but he was forbidding his mind to wander down that second path. He saw Crow's eyes flick up and down his body, but he could feel the gaze passing over him before he actually noticed the flit of his eyes.

"Now turn around," Crow instructed, his voice cool and steady, the voice of a patient teacher guiding a confused child. But of course, a mentally disoriented adolescent was all that Alexander Anderson was.

Alexander spun on his heels, trying to hold back tears. He heard a dry chuckle sound from his stepfather.

"Good job," Crow praised, and Alexander tensed up as Crow's hand combed through his wild blonde hair, gripping tufts of it in between his powerful fingers. Crow's hand slipped down to one of Alexander's bare shoulders, and the boy shivered at the cold touch. He pushed Alexander's shoulder, a gesture that wasn't quite as malicious as Alexander expected.

Crow's voice was low and quiet but still powerful as he gave Alexander another order. "Bend over. Lean on your bed."

Alexander complied, still very aware of the sharp knife that Crow was most likely pointing at him. He placed his hands on his mattress, shifting some of his weight so he was supporting himself with his arms. He was bent over uncomfortably because his bed was quite low, but he tried to keep his limbs as rigid as possible.

There was a shuffling of clothing behind Alexander, and he felt the cold heat from Crow's body as his stepfather moved closer to him. Alexander hissed out a surprised breath as the knife blade was pressed against his cheek.

"You don't make a sound. Not a single whimper," Crow spat, nudging the knife into Alexander's cheek. Alexander nodded, his eyes wide as the cold blade was pushed more firmly against his skin.

"You don't seem to understand that your mother and I _need_ this marriage to work," Crow whispered hoarsely. "We can't have you going around _talking_ about these things." _But maybe this punishment was too harsh._

Alexander nodded in agreement. He would never talk about his family again, he had learned that lesson. He hung his head, his eyes squeezed shut as he silently hoped Crow would leave him alone.

A fiery wave of pain flared suddenly in Alexander's lower back, and his eyes flew open. A breath caught in his throat, and he used all of his will power to not utter a sound.

Oh God.

His stepfather was _inside_ him and the pain was almost unbearable. A grunt sounded from behind Alexander, and there was a look of smug satisfaction on Allen Crow's face.

Too harsh? God no.

Crow's free hand slid down Alexander's body, resting lightly on one of his hips. He stroked Alexander's smooth skin and let out a throaty chuckle.

Crow pulled back slightly, saying in an uneven whisper, "And use some common sense. Don't go talking about this either. Keep your mouth shut like the way your mother keeps her _legs._" At the stressed word, Crow plunged inside Alexander. The boy tried to keep his legs steady, and was able to stay mainly still.

"And her legs are closed so _tightly_."

Again a pull out and a shove in.

"She's part of the reason I'm _doing this._"

Rip out, thrust in.

Alexander's eyes were wide, bulging out of their sockets with fear and pain. The pain hadn't faded away, it hadn't lessened at all. With every plunge into Alexander, the chafing creating even more hot pain, the agony grew. Out of all of his beatings, every bruise, cut, or scar that had ever been inflicted upon him, Alexander Anderson had never been in so much pain and he didn't believe that greater pain could even exist. And it hurt more to think that the man doing this was one he had trusted. No matter what, Alexander had always had faith in Crow. Faith that Crow would keep him safe, would keep his family happy, would never hurt him more than he could handle.

Crow groaned behind Alexander. It was a tight fit inside the boy, but to him it was worth the extra effort. He licked his dry lips and tugged Alexander's hips back towards him. Alexander let out a momentary whine, and Crow was willing to let this one slide. The knife was no longer pressed so tightly against Alexander's cheek (How would Crow be able to talk his way out of this if he slipped?), but he was still alert no matter how distracting the (formerly) pure boy was. This was Alexander's punishment, and he couldn't let him forget that. If Alexander deserved to get cut as well, then Crow would not hesitate.

By now Crow was practically rocking back and forth on his feet, his thrusting never ceasing.

"So tight," he whispered through gritted teeth, attempting to penetrate even deeper into Alexander.

Alexander bit down on his lip, his fingers ruffling the bed sheets as he balled his hands into fists, trying to ease the pain. He felt warm tears run down his cheeks and tried to hold them back. He didn't want to feel weak; he didn't want to show his stepfather that he was powerless.

Alexander's hips were being jerked back and forth with Crow's relentless forcefulness. A frown appeared on Crow's face, not quite matching the horrified expression on the face of his stepson. Alexander's mouth opened in either a silent cry or scream, his eyes wide and teary. His face was red from tears and embarrassment and his tears had created large uneven streams down his face.

"Alexander," Crow said in a voice that was not quite steady, "we can't have any of that. Keep still." Alexander nodded, tightening the muscles in his legs, digging his feet firmly into the cheap carpet to prevent more movement. He hoped these efforts were enough to cease more motion from his hips, but he knew he did well when Crow breathed out a low moan.

One of Crow's clammy hands was removed from his right hip, and he pulled the blade away from Alexander's face. Crow switched hands, holding the knife against Alexander's other cheek now. His newly freed hand dropped down and caressed Alexander's hip with lover-like grace that made Alexander shudder.

A revolted look had settled on Alexander's face as Crow's hand continued fondling his hip, sliding one of his fingers up and down his hipbone.

More tears were streaming down his face as Crow _touched_ him, as Crow _violated _him, _tainted_ him with his hands, those cold fingers and his-

Oh God no. No no no.

Crow arched his back, chuckling as Alexander quivered. The hand on Alexander's hip dropped, and Crow now touched the soft skin of Alexander's thigh. Alexander stiffened, Crow's hand snaking around to touch the inside of Alexander's leg. Alexander squeezed his eyes shut, Crow's hand trying to coax Alexander to spread his legs apart a bit more. Alexander gulped, his foot sliding away from the imprint formed in the carpet.

Crow pulled out for a brief moment then slid back into Alexander, taking a maddening amount of time to get repositioned inside him. The slow seconds went by at an even more sluggish rate for Alexander, who felt the smooth motion of his stepfather's re-entry with extreme clarity.

Alexander's chest heaved momentarily with a silent sob, more tears spilling from his eyes. He chewed on his lip, biting down harder with every thrust. He could feel his hands slipping, and he tried to grasp the bed more tightly to keep still.

Crow advanced once more into the teenager, and Alexander felt his teeth tear the flesh of his lip. Blood dripped down his chin, mixing with the salty tears that had dampened almost every part of Alexander's face. But Alexander had a feeling that he was bleeding more elsewhere.

Crow laughed behind Alexander, inhaling large breaths that made his body shake with each gasp.

Alexander tilted his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his stepfather, but he thought better of it, and realised that he couldn't see anything anyways. His tearful eyes had created a large liquefied image, and he could only see smears and the outlines of most objects.

Alexander's legs were growing weak, shaking even more as he tried to steady them. He couldn't take this anymore. Between the pain and the humiliation, Alexander wanted to die. But not at the hands of his stepfather. He'd rather kill himself than be murdered by his stepfather.

Alexander breathed out a sigh of relief as his stepfather pulled out and did not continue to invade him. He still trembled though, the violated feeling still present inside him even though his stepfather was not.

"Don't move until you hear me leave," Crow commanded, and Alexander nodded, tears dripping off his chin as he did so.

It felt like Crow was taking his sweet time to exit Alexander's room, but in reality it was only a few seconds. Alexander heard his stepfather zip up his fly and shuddered.

He stayed bent over for only a few moments more before he heard his door open and close softly. Alexander breathed out a large sigh and started shaking with sobs, not leaving his position just yet.

Eventually Alexander straightened up, but pain exploded through his back once he did. He staggered around his room, eventually resting against a wall for support. He shook his head as he realised he was crying again, and he walked around his room in a teary-eyed daze, collecting his clothing and slipping it back on.

He clambered onto his bed and curled up in a fetal position, holding himself tightly. His eyes were closed firmly but hot tears still managed to leak out, staining the flat pillow that his head was resting on.

He knew it was pointless to try and convince himself that this was just a dream. He remembered falling asleep at one point, and he also remembered waking up. And the pain that had followed opening his eyes. That wasn't a figure of his imagination.

Alexander throbbed where Crow had been inside him, and the pain was agonizing. Alexander knew that this anguish would not dissipate any time soon. Alexander timidly touched the jagged incision in his lip, testing it out at first, and then holding a hand against it to stop what little blood hadn't been blocked by any clots.

Alexander's body shook with sobs and quiet gasps. He didn't feel tired like he did before Crow had been in his room. In fact, Alexander hardly felt anything at all. Except sick. Alexander felt very, _very_ sick.

After a few minutes (or a few hours) of laying curled up on his bed, eyes closed and still shaking with tears, Alexander tensed up, hearing his bedroom door creak open once more.

"No more… please…" he whimpered, more tears running down his face.

A hand touched his head, gently running its fingers through his hair. Alexander opened his eyes at the brush of the hand that belonged not to Allen Crow but to Alexander's mother.

Martha Anderson touched her son's bloody and teary face, her eyes only holding a slight hint of remorse.

Alexander sat up, wiping the tears on his face with his sleeve.

Martha sat on the bed next to him, leaning against the wall. Alexander dropped onto his side, his head now resting in his mother's lap, where he resumed his crying.

Martha stroked his hair, whispering calming words to Alexander in her sweet voice.

"It's alright, Alexander," she cooed, her rhythmic stroking continuing.

"But… I was just…" _Raped._

Alexander raised his head from Martha's lap, and she coaxed him back down.

"I know… It's alright… I know…" She breathed, leaning down to kiss her son's temple.

_If you know, then why didn't you stop him!_ Alexander wanted to shout, but instead of bursting out in such a bold manner he simply muttered, "Why?"

"Alexander, you are such a strong boy," Martha crooned, trying to avoid the question. It was odd to think that one word held so much demanding, and Martha sighed as she realised that her son had the right to know 'why.'

"You are such a strong boy," she repeated, tangling her fingers in Alexander's wild hair. "And you need to protect weak ladies like myself. Alexander, if you don't let him do these things to you, he'll do them to me. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

_Yes!_ Alexander cried in his head. _Yes, he _should_ do it to you! You're _married!

But despite his official point of view, Alexander shook his head.

"Things will work out, Alexander. I won't let him do this to you again." Alexander knew that those words were empty; Martha had no control over her husband and his actions.

"Alexander, we all need this marriage to work. It would be best if you don't tell anybody, alright? Allen and I, we have reputations that need to be sustained. Your father was a joke, and I can't have people thinking that Allen is too. You understand, don't you?"

Alexander nodded, a new feeling growing inside him. It was a hot flare, rippling up through his chest and tearing through his mind, although it was somehow emotionless, relentless, a feeling that knew no boundaries.

For the first time in his life, Alexander found himself hating someone.

It started out just then

(_Your father was a joke_)

as Alexander nodded.

(_Your mother and I _need_ this marriage to work_)

(_We all need this marriage to work_)

As Martha compared his father to Crow. There was no comparison. Alexander's father was a better man, by far. How could she say that he was

(_a joke_)

only an object for a reputation, that they were _all_ objects to be used in this way?

Martha Anderson knew exactly what had happened in this room; she probably heard every word spoken. Alexander knew she wasn't in here to comfort him but to comfort herself.

She cared only for the opinion that others held of her and her family.

As Alexander felt this lively feeling, he burst into tears again.

_What a way to display hate,_ he thought bitterly, his tears trickling into his mother's lap.

Martha patted his hair, continuing to whisper her soothing words. But now, Alexander felt more distressed.

As the hours went by, Alexander's crying halted, and soon after so did his sobbing. Eventually his body was still, the only movement his rhythmic breathing. His mother continued stroking his hair, although her mutterings stopped. There was not a single sound.

Perhaps Martha had mistaken Alexander's stillness for sleep, because eventually she escaped from beneath Alexander's head, petting his hair one more time. She leaned down, kissing the tip of her son's nose.

"I love you," she whispered, and got up to leave.

And in bitter reply, Alexander thought, _I hate you too_.

* * *

Alexander feigned sleep for the rest of the night, remaining curled up in a tiny ball. He still hurt awfully, and occasionally one of his hands would rub his throbbing backside, trying to ease the pain.

Alexander had a feeling that he wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he wanted to, knowing that Allen Crow and his wife were sleeping in the room across the hall as a happy couple.

Just after Alexander had gotten raped.

Just after Alexander learned to hate, learned that he was _capable_ of hate.

Allen Crow was sleeping, just after he had taken the purity of a teenaged boy.

Alexander opened his eyes to see soft light entering his room from the window. The early morning light wasn't enough to change the night-time darkness of Alexander's room, but he had a feeling it would take him longer to get ready for school today, and he decided to try and get up now to avoid being late.

Alexander stood up, his back still sore, but at least he was capable of standing. He removed his wrinkled clothing in search of something clean and whimpered as he saw blood drying on his legs. Blood that had been shed when Crow raped him.

Alexander felt hot tears sting his eyes and held them back; knowing that the two who were still sleeping in the other room would be able to tell that he had been crying.

He pulled on his fresh clothing then fell back onto his bed.

_I'm not going to be able to do this_, Alexander thought, feeling frustrated with himself.

Alexander lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with deeply scarred eyes, his anxiety very clear in those vivid orbs.

Alexander stayed that way for the longest time, mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide and afraid. He perked up as he heard his mother moving around, and got off his bed as he heard her start making breakfast.

He wandered to their tiny bathroom, feeling refreshed as he finally wiped the dried blood off his face. His lip stung, and he grimaced, staring at his reflection in a mirror until the stinging died out.

Exiting the bathroom, he meandered out to the small dining room, his nose hardly noticing the delicious smell of his mother's cooking.

"Good morning Alexander!" Martha said brightly as Alexander entered her sight.

Alexander forced a smile and replied with similar words. He sat down in his spot at the table, pain shooting through him as he did. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut until the pain died down to a more bearable level.

If Martha saw her son flinch, she chose to ignore it, turning her back to resume her cooking.

Alexander sat patiently at the table, having a light conversation with his mother. Alexander felt a dizzy wave pass through him as his gaze passed over the kitchen counter, his eyes falling on the very same kitchen knife Crow used to threaten him the night before. Alexander closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself, the dizzy feeling passing.

After a few more minutes of cooking, Martha placed a plate of food in front of Alexander, smiling at him again, still acting oblivious to the pain Alexander was in.

Alexander looked down at him food, a sick wave washing over him.

_How do you expect me to eat?_ He asked her in his mind, looking up at her with a hurt glare.

_How do you expect me to live?_

Alexander felt a feeling of dread wash over him as he heard footsteps coming from his parents' bedroom, footsteps that he knew very well.

"Morning everyone," Crow said in a cheerful voice, the voice of a well-rested human being.

Alexander heard his mother reply in a gleeful voice, and he looked up in time to see her reach up and kiss Crow tenderly, as if the man was her first love.

Alexander looked down at his food again, a disgusted look falling upon his features.

"Hello Alexander."

Alexander raised his gaze once more, looking up into Crow's smiling face. Alexander resisted a shudder, his lips turning up in a bright grin.

Crow patted one of Alexander's cheeks, joining him at the table.

Alexander tried to avoid Crow's gaze, picking at his food, eating only a few bites. Just tasting the food made Alexander feel increasingly ill.

Crow tapped the corner of Alexander's plate and the boy looked up with large innocent eyes.

"Eat," Crow commanded, good humor in his voice. Alexander nodded, beginning to gobble up his food.

Crow chuckled, turning to Martha, conversing lightly with her.

Alexander finished up his plate of food, feeling his stomach churn with every bite.

After his dishes were cleaned up, Alexander spoke with his 'parents' for a few minutes before he left the house, heading for his school.

He let out a breath of relief as he closed the door behind him. He breathed in the fresh air, and although it chilled his lungs, it felt nice. And it didn't smell like Allen Crow. The air was so fresh. So wonderfully fresh.

Alexander walked at a leisurely pace, taking deep breaths with each step.

For now he was free, and although he knew he couldn't go far, his stepfather couldn't hurt him anymore. Not for the next few hours, at least.

Alexander groaned, realising that he looked awful. His lip had swollen up slightly, although it wasn't very noticeable, and there was a dark bruise on his cheek that his stepfather had given him the previous evening.

Evening.

That evening felt so far away, as if it had happened a lifetime ago. But it had only been a night.

A frown creased his lips. At least when Crow beat him, Alexander had some sense of purity left about him. And now he felt like nothing. Nothing but the victim of an insane rapist and a passive mother, nothing but an empty shell.

Alexander thought of all the men he had seen around the area and he felt sick butterflies in his stomach. All the men he knew, they could rape him too. They were all capable of it, just like Allen Crow was. All they needed was a bit of motivation, and they could _all_ have their way with the vulnerable adolescent.

Tears stung his eyes. He couldn't trust _anyone_ anymore. There wasn't a single person he could confide in. Because they could all be like Crow.

Alexander's chest heaved with a large sob, and when his chest fell, an army of tears cascaded down his cheeks.

With every bawling breath, more tears streaked down his face, off his chin and off his nose, falling like salty raindrops.

Alexander took refuge behind an old building, letting out a wailing cry. He placed his hands over his eyes, as if trying to protect himself from the world.

_If I can't see the world, the world can't see me._

The sick feeling that had been present for so many hours hit Alexander in a flood.

The teenaged boy doubled over, his hands flying to his stomach. He regurgitated the breakfast that he had forced down only a few minutes ago, the half-digested chunks mixing with his dinner from the previous night.

He looked at the puddle on the ground, more tears racing down his cheeks.

The taste of what he just vomited had just settled in, and the disgusting bitter taste was enough to send him spewing up more of the contents of his stomach.

Alexander let out a gurgling cry, more sour bile gushing from his mouth.

More tears were spilling from his eyes, mixing in with the hot pile of vomit at Alexander's feet.

He continued throwing up, his stomach starting to ache just as much as his backside did.

Alexander groaned, a few clear strings of bile being regurgitated. Eventually he straitened after there was nothing left to bring up.

He looked timidly at the pool at his feet, wiping a ribbon of saliva and mucus from his chin.

More tears slid down his cheeks, his stomach gurgling angrily at him.

Alexander wiped his face of all excretions and turned to walk away, leaving the disgorged pile behind him.


End file.
